Archive for May, 2011

Since we, at The Ninja Parade, are in the business of helping those less fortunate, we thought it would be a good idea to assist our fellow internet users with something they’ve apparently been struggling with for quite some time now.

As previously indicated in The 15 Million Dollar Question, the semi-seductive sideways bathroom pic, has been used and misused since the widespread consumption of cameraphones. Now it’s time to clear the air.

Remember: We’re Here to Help

If you’re gonna do the sideways pic thing…at least do it right.

So please: [We said please]

Do:Wash yo damn mirror. *sigh* if I see one more hard-water and toothpaste encrusted bathroom mirror I swear fo’ lawd Imma slap the shyt out somebody. Windex that isht, matter fact…just clean that whole bish up!!

Don’t:Attempt to Photo Shop (or any other image editing program) if you don’t know what you’re doing. Look. Despite conventional wisdom, the camera doesn’t really add 10 lbs…but laying on your ass live-tweeting quotes from The Real Housewives of Atlanta while inhaling a box of Thin Mints DOES. So before you try to digitally enhance your torso, remember, fcuk it…just get a gym membership.

Don’t:Have ManMan in there while you trying to get your seductive freak on. I’ve said it before and will say it again: The Ninja Parade is for the children. That said, having lil man in the bathroom with you whilst you toot your miss-shapen ass in the air isn’t fair to him, and will probably traumatize shorty for life. (see above) These types of kids either end up on the giving or receiving end of a “make it rain” scenario at your local gentleman’s club. Gee thanks mom.

Do:Be honest about your appearance. Anybody can send a private pic to a friend/lover/babydaddy/sideline breaux…hell, this IS America. But when it comes to public postings on social networks/anywhere on the internet- no matter what them rachet ninjas in the club say to get into your draws, you’re undoubtedly NOT a dyme (see here for details). However, you may qualify for public posting by being at least an 8.25 (which is still astronomically rare, but at least gives you hope).

Don’t:Be a “model”. For obvious reasons, your sideways bathroom pics are a key indicator that you ARE NOT a model. And wash yo damn mirror.

El Jugo has be wrestling for some time now. Not with “if”, or even “when”, but upon which context shall I go in. I believe I have found it.

The intellectual in me would wish to address homosexuality in the church, or perhaps marital infidelity amongst leaders, or how groupthink allows leaders to be placed upon a pedistal…nope. I’ll recuse myself from such weighty social/religious/theological observations.

Instead, in true Ninja fashion, I’ll ask what we all want to know:

WHY IN THE FCUK IS THIS DUDE POSING IN THE MIRROR LIKE HE HAD 17 SOLO TACKLES AND 2 FORCED FUMBLES?????

No, seriously.

What makes a grown man do the sideways bathroom pic? In underarmour, no less? Really my nigga? C’mon son.

1) UnderArmour is for Athletes. Or at least ninjas who just got done doing some athletic shyt. Exhibit A (see above) has on JEANS, a wrist-watch, and some Mr. T gold chains. Which suggests that this pic was taken on a regular lazy Saturday in-between sermon prep, not after an even slightly vigorous game of flag football. Problem with that is, this ninja walks around with UnderArmour on just for the hell of it. Nothing, and I DO MEAN NOTHING says *wait on it* Douchebag like a nigga in Kroger with some UnderArmour on skimming through the frozen breakfasts n’shyt. GTFOH. This is a subtle violation of some major shit right here.

2) The Sideways Bathroom Pic… Now ya’ll know, Ol El Jugo is notorious for clowning heaux and ninjas, alike, for their proclivity for bathroom photos. Taking pictures of yourself is ok, taking pics in the bathroom is ok, hell…even a sideways pic is kind of ok, but the sideways semi-seductive pic is reserved for women (Attractiveness level 8.25 and up). Period. When grown men attempt to incorporate all three elements, things go horribly awry. Full upper-body, sideways joints, with the sole intention to show of one’s physique is slick gay as hell. Which, ironically…nevermind.

3) Texting Pics. Points 1 & 2 are a natural segue to the dangers of pic texting. Face it, you’re never as fly as you think you are, so sending a self-portrait of oneself (in a bathroom), is begging to get roasted/clowned into perpetuity. The internet has changed everything. Used to be, folk had an incriminating pic of you, and you sent your people out with either money or violence to squash it. Now, it’s too easy to get fronted off online whilst holding your breath to near-suffocation, wearing a compression shirt and fitted jeans. It’s just not worth it fam.

It has been the mission and creed of this blog to poke fun and make light of, just about everything. Today, we have a very special episode of The Ninja Parade, with a message of social empowerment, forward-thinking meditation, and economic stability for the future.

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.” – Juliet (Shakespear, “Romeo & Juliet”). Truer words may never have been spoken. Although the spirit of what ol Willy Shake is communicating through Juliet, is that names are rather meaningless constructions…yet, in 2011, we gots to be mo careful!

There has been an alarming trend that has caused a literal state of emergency in the black community. I’ll share with you an excerpt from a friend’s FB status.

I have officially heard it all. I am at Party City and this chick just called her little girls name…you will NEVER guess what it is!!!!! LICENSE!!!! I am outdone. #ninjapartycity

License? Really? This the type of bullshyt I’m tombout.

Look, we can blame a lot of things: we can blame the white man, we can blame Republicans, we can blame Bush, hell we can blame it on the rain…but we can’t blame anybody but ourselves for such foolishness.

“I” (El Jugo) have sat in hiring meetings, designed with the sole and specific purpose of creating employment opportunities for minorities and watched resumes and applications get literally thrown away because of ridiculously ignant names. I have SEEN this happen, so imagine what has gone unseen?

But we still persist with the dashes and hyphens like shit’s sweet? Ya’ll act like it’s just a lot of jobs out here. Granted, I know we should be teaching our children entrepreneurship, but damn, you think dude at the bank isn’t snickering when he gets that SBA loan application? You bet your ass he is.

The moral of this story: we cannot keep economically disenfranchising children, all over some shit we think is cute and creative.

Allow me to address your common objections to the common sense now:

1)“But President Obama is named…”. Please, systemmatically miss me with the bullshit paper-thin argument. There is a BOLD line between indigenous cultural names, like Barack, and that tomfoolery you pulled out of your ass that’s a mix of your name, your babydaddy’s name, your favorite clear liquor, and your favorite underground rapper (who has a 27% chance of being the father). Just stop, and read a damn book.

2) “My name is <insert random 11 syllable hood shyt>, and I’m doing just fine”. This may very well be true, but don’t allow your relative success to subtly seduce you into thinking that you’ve gotten all you can. Here’s the thing about being denied opportunity, MFr’s are in NO WAY obligated to tell you why they didn’t give you shyt. So, yes, you’ve landed a comfy position doing XYZ…but you applied to ABC, STU, and DEF first and they all chuckled at your resume and tossed that isht away. The reality is, none of knows the extent to which we’ve been denied opportunity because our name. That includes you.

3) “It’s my baby…I can name it whatever 11 syllable hood shyt, with a hyphen, I want”. Technically, it is your baby…for now. And maybe I shouldn’t care, but I do. Simply because children who are already systematically denied resources because of the color of their skin and/or socio-economic status are getting a double whammy of inherently suspect names. Not fair. Thing is, that baby has to grow, and upon full growth, said baby becomes a part of the larger mainstream. The mainstream is where MOST shyt of substance, happens that could change the various sub-communities. So even if you’re raising up a revolution through your baby revolutionary…shyt’s not sweet. Damn, we already black.

By virtue of the fact that, if you’re reading this and you’ve already named your seed some outlandish shyt, you’ve already proven a lapse in judgement…so let’s make a compromise since you hardheaded anyway. Give your baby a pronounceable 1-2 syllable middle name, that way he/she can have the choice to disregard the bullshyt you gave them upon entry, and make some moves, or at least get a job/promotion.

Ok, so again, I must collectively pull the card of my real friends, and social media friends by exposing the impending delusion of the outlandish shyt ya’ll say. As we all struggle for relevance in a cluttered world, let us please do so with a touch of class, a shred of integrity, and most of all…a healthy dose of truth.

Here are three things that people [READ: black folks] commonly pontificate about:

1) HATERS. *long drawn out sigh* Let’s put this thing to rest, for once and for all. Haters are real, but unless you are in the upper-tier leadership of some religious, professional, academic, social, philanthropic, or cultural movement AND/OR have a net worth (after taxes, in cold hard cash) of 6-figures or more…AIN’T NOBODY THINKIN ABOUT YO BLACK ASS. That’s not to say people don’t hate you, because they probably do. But hating you, and hating “on” you, are two different things. They can’t hate on you, because despite how cold you think your knock-off purse collection is, how hard you stunt in fake Polo shirts with cloudy diamond chains…you really ain’t shyt, for real. And if you’ve tweeted, facebooked, skyped, or texted someone more than once in the last 30 days about “haters”…you still ain’t shyt. People don’t like you because you’re self-absorbed and delusional…not because they want to be you, be like you, or anything else. [NOTE: offering a critical opinion of you does not in anyway constitute “hating”, and having a “I don’t care what other people say” mentality is a sure way to end up less effective in your endeavors and ultimately alone…you’re welcome.]

2a) CORPORATE THUGS. This is even more ridiculous. Look, you’re either corporate, or you’re thuggin…that’s it. Even if you’re corporate and you’re engaged in felonious activity, I doubt it’s huggin the block and plotting moves on rivals…get the FCUK out of her and go try and figure a way to defraud the government on tax money ninja. And if you’re thuggin, having working internet and two button-up shirts doesn’t make you any more corporate than standing in a garage makes you a damn car. Owning a “promotion company”, or record label with less than 50,000 units, or mobile auto detail doesn’t count either. I don’t know what’s more ridiculous, the fact Jay-Z (et. al) have collectively sold you a dream of some suited intelligent business man who runs into a phone booth (ala Clark Kent) and hops out a dope slangin’ hood superhero…OR that stupid ninjas actually try to make this dream a reality. Dudes who talk about how they can switch it up and go from hood to professional don’t know what either of the two are.

2b) CHICKS WHO SAY THEY WANT A CORPORATE THUG. These heauxs are just as stupid as the ninjas who perpetrate the act. I can’t tell you how many times, in conversation, I’ve heard a woman say she wanted a man who was educated and well-groomed with stable secure benefits and values…but also Bunz from Belly at the core. Bish please! And where, pre tell, do you expect to meet this knight in shining armor, ma’am? “Giving back” at a work-release sponsored community fundraising All White Party? Or maybe mentoring young thugs on how to dopeman their way through grad school and still write an effective thesis? *smh* Go to hell.

3) ELITE AND ESTABLISHED SISTAS THAT ONLY DATE THUGS. *even longer and more drawn out sigh than before* Let’s start with the basics…most women only stunt and front to be more secure/established than they really are. That said, for those that aren’t fronting and really do have their ducks in a row…the odds of her dating ManMan from the block are so astronomically slim it’s not even funny. TV, and black romance novels, have really got ninjas fooled out here. If you’re working with an 11th grade education and 2 felonies, ain’t no way in the East or West side of Hell you get a shot at some BAD chick graduating from Med/Law/Professional school. Even if she slick dumb as hell on relationship end and says she wants a guy with an “edge”…she really means she’ll let ANY doctor/resident/dentist smash and as long as he listens to a little rap music and is cool with her uncles smoking joints at the family picnic…not YOU doeboy. Unlike the previous points, I’ll concede that these women may actually exist, “I” just don’t know any of them. And even if some random hood nigga does wind up with a degree’d up star…he’s known her FOR-EVER, like forever-ever, back when she was rockin’ the pony tail on the side of her head and wasn’t shyt and managed to stay in the running long enough. Otherwise, you have no chance. The man shortage ain’t that bad pimp, and elite women have more options then they’ll admit, before they make it that far down the list to let you roll blunts on her Formica countertops.

The Ninja Parade is in the business of saying what you want to say. In the spirit of our heritage, we have to address a cultural phenomena.

There has, in recent years (not specific years, but like the last 2-4 years of my 30something life) been a trend. This trend, like all trends, should be explored for possible opportunities for growth.

What is it, you ask? It’s the new lady play-things that have entered the dating market. Morally liberal girls who just want to have fun (no, or limited, strings attached). BUT, they’re not who you think…

History: back in the day, you could almost tell the women who were, for lack of a better term, “goin'”. Their attire, conversation, and bravado reeked of sexual kinky-ness and a rather inexpensive, uncomplicated, good times. Sure, there were/are the “undercovers” who wear the facade of virtue while blowing minds and getting backs blown out. We not tombout them though…nope.

We are suggesting that the new, more obvious, group of runners is right under our noses and can be identified by their collective battle-cry: “I’m Doin’ Me”.

Many an observant man has noticed this, but we’ll share the key perpetrators for those less perceptive.

1) The Recent Divorcee: Ahhhhh yes, like the first robin in spring, these beautiful late 20/early 30 birds appear to add a beautiful stroke of color to the dating landscape. Make no mistake though…they GET DOWN. In fact, these chicks have an 13-18 month window once the ink dries on *Ursher voice* them papers when they are goin’ OUT THE FRAME. The beauty isn’t just that they are goin’, it’s the relative lack of requirement. Divorces, from my estimation, take their toll so take heed that these lovely ladies aren’t trying to hop into anything “serious” and that they’re just “doin’ them”. [TIP: Even if you wanted to re-wife them they either, a) wouldn’t let you, or b) remind you that they still have 11 months of heaux’n left on their contract by coming back with HPV after an awesome “girl’s trip” to All Star Weekend. ]

2) The Under 30, With Kid(s) in Middle School Mom: Here’s where the variety becomes fun and exciting. Although being a single parent presents its own set of challenges, don’t be fooled one bit into thinking that it entirely stops a sista’s progress. I know many a single mom with advanced Degrees (that won’t keep her warm), and successful careers. That said, lowkey, they goin’. Babies and toddlers take up a ton of time, so while she was balancing motherhood, job, school, etc…she didn’t have much time for her. So what does she do now that Lil LeJuan can dress and feed himself, and she’s got some job security, AND got some $$ in the 401(k)…you guessed it, she’s “Doin’ Her“…which translates into doin’ you. The added perk is that she probably isn’t in the business of having random niggas around her kids, so no daddy action or emotion inducing sleep-overs…just the goods once reliable childcare is secured and youth football season starts. [TIP: play close attention to who her baby’s father is, the more felonious his activity…the easier this gets #truth, THEY can often been found in local pole dancing classes, getting “in shape” to “to them”].

3) The Mid-30’s, With at least one Kid in High School and a Flat Stomach Mom: My ninja, you have officially hit pay dirt. <insert opening scene from Beverly Hillbillies where Jed realizes he’s struck oil while possum hunting>. Yo, real talk, doesn’t get any better than this fam. Not only do these chicks have a TON of free time, they’re often pretty good looking. Seasoned veterans in these streets, they know what they want, how they want it, and often could care less about the long term at this point. #winning. And don’t mess around and be slightly younger that her #doublewinning. They are the quintessential “cougars” of pop culture. Their level of understanding of men, accumulated from 2 decades of trial and error, is impeccable. They let you be you, while they…*wait for it*…are just “doin’ them”. It’s a beautiful thing. Old El Jugo gets a lil choked up just thinking about it. [Tip: unless you are rich, and I’m not tombout “hood rich”, but legitimately ballin’, she won’t be impressed with your money…so put that on the back-burner and emphasize your youth and vitality because her 3 day a week Zumba class has her hot ‘n ready]

This morning I woke up, exchanged a few pleasantries with my husband, and it occurred to me:

I struggle at some point, at least once a day, to not tell my husband to kiss my ass.

Seriously, EVERY.SINGLE.DAY.

This epiphany led me down a train of thought that made me realize that I can’t quite possibly be alone in this thinking. And then it occurred to me that many single women don’t know lies in store when they consider the benefits of marriage. And not only do they not know that every day, without fail, there will be moments where you will want to cuss your husband the fuck out, but what they really don’t know is that you can’t. I repeat, you CANNOT tell your husband, the man you love and have chosen to spend the rest of your life with, to shut the fuck up. That means you can’t tell him to kiss your ass, or go to hell either. You can think it. You can tweet it. You can even text it to your best friend and say it JUST how you want to say it to him. But you can’t say it to him. Why?

Because you want to *stay* married, that’s why.

Whether you like it or not, these little displays of “affection” can undermine teamwork, erode the marriage, and open the door for a response like, “fuck you and yo punk ass daddy,” which, if you recall John Legend’s “Ordinary People” video, is the type of shit that will get you slapped dead in your mouth, in slow motion, with a camera there to capture your stunned reaction.

And you can’t be with an abuser, right? RIGHT?

So, I’m going to help you with that. I’m gonna tell you the truth about what lies on the other side of the broom, and how you might want to deal with that. It is at this point where I had considered inserting some type of “this isn’t applicable to everyone” or “every relationship is different” disclaimer, but then it occurred to me, if you take this seriously enough to be offended, then not only have I done my job, but the terrorists have won, and there’s some oceanfront property in Arizona I’d like to sell you.

Here goes:

All Sex Everything. A lot of people are under the impression that one of the best thing about marriage is that sex is at your beck and call. #FALSE. Not gonna happen. Make all the demands and delusional claims of daily sex fests you want. It’s simply just not going to happen. While I am quickly approaching the age where sex < sleep, I haven’t always been this old, and I can say that all sex, all the time, not only makes for sore special places, but doesn’t improve intimacy. Just to be clear – I am not a cuddler. I will not claim that cuddling and affectionate touching can take the place of sex as far as driving intimacy. What I am saying is that intimacy is an emotional construct that can happen without any touching at all. You just have to figure out what that means for your relationship. To the converse, though, I must admit – the sex gets better. Honestly, a few years under your belt should give you enough experience with this person to have them coming in (moan) 8 seconds, so it becomes more about quality versus quantity. Boredom? I can’t speak on it. It’s not an issue for me as I never find orgasms to be boring. Ever. If you do, maybe you should try bungee jumping instead of marriage.

You will hate your In-Laws. Seriously. Unless you are fortunate enough to have married an only child orphan, who I am sure come with their own set of issues, there is no way you’re going to avoid in-laws, and the subsequent love-hate relationships that will result. “But me and his mama/sister/best-friend-but-like-a-cousin are cool,” you say. Okay. You cool NOW. All you need is one perceived slight around the holidays involving distant a cousin and a misplaced stamp, to bring you to the harsh reality that they just might be crazy…as fuck… you can’t forget the “as fuck.” Just don’t get sucked into their drama. Unless you can have them all dispatched by a ninja assassin squad (contact El Jugo, serious inquiries only) its best to just be okay with them calling you stuck up for not wanting to come around…ole bougie ass…

Money, money, money, mooooney…..mooooney. Talking about money makes me want to choke slam a baby. I want to run bamboo skewers though my eyeballs, and have even faked a seizure to get out of having to talk to my husband about money. This is the conversation where I am MOST CLOSE to telling my husband to kiss my black ass. All my independent woman bullshit boils over, my lips smack, my neck starts to roll, and I start rattling off my stats like he should STILL be impressed 5 years after the fact. Guess what? He’s not. And I am sure you heard all of that “talk about money before you get married,” and I am sure you have or will. But you have to continue talking about money. Even if – hell, ESPECIALLY if – it’s painful. All the time. Like every month. Discussing money with my husband makes me want to throw up in mouth, I hate it SO MUCH. However, if I didn’t, he would probably divorce me because I squandered our savings on moderately priced shoes, failed business ventures, and jordans for my son, just to prove he can’t tell me what to do with MY money, nigga. But it’s not MY money – it’s OURS…which brings me to

Separate but Equal. Checking accounts. Might not have worked for Brown v. Topeka Board of Education, but it works in my house. …I’m just sayin…

Pick Your Battles. This does NOT mean “compromise all your values and morals so that he doesn’t get mad at you.” This simply means…
STFU every now and again. Sound familiar? I bet it does. Direct all your hate mail to idontgiveafuck@yomama.com. There are times when your significant other may say or do something that causes your eyes to squint, cut to the left, and the next sound you hear is the ominous hum of an unsheathed light saber as your prepare for an epic battle. And every now and again, those battles are necessary. But do you REALLY want to sever his limbs over a toilet seat? Is it really worth it? If every perceived slight equals you feeling like he’s disrespecting you, and now you feel like you need to “check his ass,” then why are you married in the first place? Check yoself before you…I think you know the rest. Being the angry black woman is SO passé.

Everybody plays the fool. I have heard some nonsense about marrying someone who loves you more than you love them. Thing is, at any given point in the relationship, who likes who more is going to change. This means that, one day, you’re going to look up and YOU’RE gonna be the sucka MC. You’re gonna be all Lenny’d out, wailing about watching television until television went off, waiting on your spouse to look up and realize how much you love and do for them, when just 3 weeks ago you were trying to sneak away to get some space from their clingy ass. It happens. And you need to be okay with that.

So, now that you know what’s on the other side of the game, you can make an informed decision. Marriage is a legal union, a business partnership with some sex sprinkled in to make it complicated and interesting. It’s a wonderful opportunity to be the best you can be and an awful social experiment that shows what happens when two strangers pick each other to love and live with, and shit starts getting real. And I, personally, love it.~klkenned